The library of imagination

The wind rustles through the forest. Above my head the trees crack like old bones in a body. The crisp morning smell of the pines enters my nose. One of my favorite smells, it makes a smile forms around my lips. The forest is my safe place. Every morning I try to walk through it before everyone awakens in my little town. The calm surroundings and solitude help me get started. Yesterday there was a big storm and I was curious what the state of the forest would be in. Luckily most of the trees survived. Although the wind is still making his way through the canopy, the birds are already singing their beautiful tunes again. I exit the forest unto a small path to the village. A coastal town with just a few little shops and a lot sand in the streets and in our houses. In the sky I still can see the moon. The dawn is rising late as the days are very short in this time of year. The closer I get to the village the more I get the idea that something is off. I prick my ears and find there is no single sound in the air. At this hour my fellow villagers become busy bees. The early birds are already walking to school, people who have early morning jobs rush to their work, sometimes even with their breakfast stuffed in their mouths.

I don’t see the children. There is no sound of any voice on the streets. I don’t smell the irresistible strawberry cream pastries from the local bakery.

Have I’ve mistaken the time? The first house I pass I sneak in a look. That is odd. It is empty. I did not know someone moved away. We are a small community, sometimes we know things before someone themselves know it. I quicken my pace to the center. No soul or animal in sight. All the shops are closed. The bakery who should be open since dawn is empty. I look to the building and wonder. Was there a bakery in my town? Did I imagine the buttery croissants, the sound of bread slicing. The people drinking coffee on the wooden shaky chairs on the porch? The earth starts to shake. We have never had an earthquake before. I rush to my house and start to scream for friends and neighbors. After running through several yellow brick roads I pause; Where is my house? I cannot find it. How does one forget where she lives? There are only 21 streets in this town. Or were there 27?

What is happening to me? Am I losing my mind?

The buildings around me tremble on their foundations and the sound of breaking beams and concrete shaking is deafening. I make myself as small as possible. I shut my eyes and cover my ears. Where is everyone? Why am I alone? After what feels like hours the trembling and pounding stops. Except the pounding of my own heart. I open my eyes. My knees are shaking when I stand up. I circle around to see what is left. I squeeze my eyes shut and notice that next to the forest, there is a building on a hill. It looks fully intact. I have never seen that one before. My legs take over and I hike to the building. From up close the building stretches around 10 meters into the air and the same in its width. It makes me feel like a dwarf. My eyes wander first to the huge cursive words on the top of the building and mumble the words out loud: ‘library of imagination.'

When I look down from the letters a big wooden door greets me; It is almost as tall as the building. It makes me uncomfortable, though particular curious at the same time. There is a stair leading up to the brown door. I walk up the stairs to the entrance. I swallow a few times to get rid of the ball forming in my throat. My hand reaches to the round handle of the door. In the corner of my eye I see a metal doorknocker and decide to first knock, instead of just opening the door. I wonder if I even can. The weight should be massive. I extend my right hand to the doorknocker. It is so tiny. Smaller than my own hand. It makes me chuckle. A tiny doorknocker on this -larger than life- door. Before I reach the handle with my hand I hear a sound from the other side. It sounds like a giggle. Is someone there?

I lay my ear on the hard surface of the door and listen carefully to find another sound. It’s as still as the quiet before the storm. I take the doorknocker in my hand and knock three times. I hold my breath and wonder if three times is enough. I do not have to ponder for long, because the wooden doors slowly open with a low squeaking sound. I stare at the opening. No one is greeting me at the door. I do not dare to step in uninvited.

Then for the first time in hours I hear a voice ‘Welcome. Come in’ It is an hollow sound and I step into the big entrance hall with four green walls and a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I trod a few steps further into a bigger room and are greeted not by a humanbeing, but with the smell of fresh ink on new paper and a hint of vanilla aroma . I inhale deeply and almost sink into the floor.

‘Hello.’ I shout into the air. An echo is my only answer. When I walk into a large room I see movement on a loft a few feet into the air. There is a ladder going up to a platform with even more books. A little girl climbs down the stairs. She walks, half skips to me to greet me with a hug. At her touch I freeze into a statue. ‘Hello.’ I utter, my throat still dry. ‘Who are you?’

‘I am the librarian. My name is Libra. ’ A giggle releases from the child in front of me.

‘You must be Calluna.’ She grabs my hand and guides me to the nearest bookshelf.

‘How do you know my name?’ I suspiciously ask.

‘We are in the librarian of YOUR imagination, silly. Me as your librarian knows everything that is in your mind. Every dusty corner. Every little detail. It’s all in here.’ Libra points to her head and then with wide open arms to the whole inside of the building. ‘From the day you were born to the very last minute; Everything you created in your head is in this place.’

Confused as I am I blink frantically with my eyes. Looking at the books I can see thousands of them. Thousands of stories. Thousands ideas. She looks at me with a twinkling in her eyes ‘Isn’t it amazing?

I walk to the first bookshelf and let my fingers dance around the covers. The most bizarre kind of books reveal themselves to me. Small, big, tall, square and round. Bright colors and dark colors. Some books are even see through. I take out a book and it falls out of my hand. My image is staring back at me.

‘That is a mirror book.’ You create a lot of things in your head with mirrors. She grabs my hand and takes me to another corner I look up to read the sign ‘ocean creations.’ From left to right there are hundreds of books. I look to the girl. She chuckles ‘Yes, you also make up a lot of things with the ocean. The same with trees.’ She points to the next room. I see through the corridor and in the next room there is a big tree. We walk to the room and I see four cabinets around the trunk stacked with books. In the tree there are several birds chirping. I spot on a branch an owl and it flies to the bookcase, grabs a book with it claws and flies to me. The bird releases the book and I quickly catch it out of the air. The titles says: All the trees I want to visit.

And I remember. I remember coming up with a plan to do a tree road trip across Europe. I open the book and my imagination unfolds as if I were making it up right now. I close the book and start randomly opening books from all kinds of sections. I’m totally mesmerized by their projections. Some are just stories on paper. Some are like projections of a movie projector. Some are drawings. The librarian lets me be and goes back to the loft where she started. At some point I am awakened out of my state of awe and hear her voice again. It is almost as if she is singing. ‘Time for some tea.’

I walk back to the table I saw earlier. Two mugs are on the table. A moist cloud is rising from the mug to the high cealing. Libra gives one mug to me and I hold the warm beverages in both my hands. I take a sip. Just what I needed. Suddenly I realize I came from outside. Outside where everything is in rubbles and the only thing standing is this library. ‘Is this island even real?’ The girl looks with an intensive look to me. The most serious she has been since I met her ‘That depends on how you define ‘real.’ She walks away and comes back with a book. She opens it before me.

‘This is one of the worlds you created. A story you came up with. Sometimes you begin a story and you forget about it, or you abandon it. Whenever that happens. Whenever you forget. The world will crumble and the characters will fade away. What happened this morning was that you forgot about this world. It is pretty old this world. It dates 15 years back. The story itself is not forgotten. We have it archived right here in the library.

I pull my eyebrows together. ‘Who is we? Are there more librarians?’

‘Just one other. The Librarian.’ The twinkle in her eye reappears and she focuses on something behind me. I look over my shoulder and see a Man standing there. The supposed Librarian.

I look to His hands. There are two books which He is holding. I want to look Him in the eye, but I can’t. As soon as my eyes meet His, I have to look away. Staring to my hands the Librarian begins to speak ‘You once said that people could paint or draw Me. Though they could never paint My eyes. Because no one would know how to capture them.’ He does not even have to open the book in his hand. I know that I said that. This is not just a librarian. This is the Maker of the moon. The Maker of me. The Maker of this library. It’s Jesus.

‘You made this.’ I whisper not sure what else to say. ‘I sure did. And I do not regret it. You are wonderfully made.' The second book He is holding is the biggest book I have ever seen. Even in this library, where I encountered really big books.

‘This is your biggest work.’ He carefully places it on the table and slides it to me. I stare to the cover and hear Libra say: ‘Take a look.’ I read the words on the cover aloud: ‘The book of ideas.’ Page after page is covered with ideas. Thirty years worth of ideas.

‘Why do I have so many ideas, but almost never one comes to fruition?'

Tears well up in my eyes. The Librarian and Libra stay silent.

Don’t they have an answer for me. Anger start to build up from my toes to my chest. Because now I remember all the years I tried to create, to write and being stuck. The years of tears, anger and disappointment.

I start to frantically browse through the book. Faster and faster. Until my fingers feel numb and my ring finger has a paper cut. The sharp pain only fuels my anger I shut the book with a deafening bang. The whole librarian echoes the sound.

'Why did you create me with this gift of imagination. If I just get stuck every time?’

I don’t wait for the answer, cause I can not bear another silence. I run to the doors. They close after me with a heavy click. I run down the stairs and down the hill. Almost falling over into the grass. I pick up the hem of my flowy skirt and run straight to the ocean.

The salty air of the ocean calms me down a little. I sit partly in the water partly on the sand. The waves crash around me. I fumble with my hands in the wet sand. I take a handful of the pasty mud from the ground and throw it back into the ocean. Someone sits next to me and I do not have to guess. For a while we sit in silence looking at the waves who at first were wild and rough, but slowly calm down if they were a babbling brook.

‘Look me in the eyes.’ His voice is tender. I am startled at the remark. I don’t dare to look, but I don’t dare not too. Carefully I turn my head and search for His eyes. It makes my heart stop for a moment. They are full of life and compassion. I do not find disappointment in His eyes.

‘Bones and hearts are not the only thing within a human that breaks.’

He pauses for a second and puts His hand on my shoulder.

‘The human mind can break too.’’

That strikes a deep hidden heartstring within me and the tears start to flow. I never had words to describe the darkness, the agony, I was in. And in those six words there lays an entire world that I have lived in for decades.

‘I could take your gift from you, if you think it is too hard to handle. But this road that you are on is too show others that they can heal too. They can bloom again in their gifts. They can be restored. They can get out of the dark.'

‘You cannot be a light in the dark for people. If you have never been in the dark yourself.’

'NO!' I shout and put my hands before my mouth. ‘Sorry that came out too loud.’

He laughs ‘Dear one, never be ashamed to be passionate about things.’

‘I want this. I want to be a light in the dark. And I love my imaginative mind. I would never trade it or want to lose it.!’

‘Well then. He rises to his feet 'It is settled.' He reaches his hand out to me. 'Time for a walk through one of your worlds.' On our walk everywhere we tread our step, there start flowers to grow left and right from us. We walk for an hour and the island ones again is bursting with color and floral scent. Eventually we head back to the library. Dusk is settling in and the world around me gets darker. 'Calluna, why do you think this library of imagination exists? For a few minutes I ponder in silence. 'I truly don't know.' He looks at me 'it exists because I care about everything you create from small to grand. From beginning to end. Finished and unfinished. Every tiny idea. Every little thought train.'

We are on the steps again of the library and the Librarian disappears.

My eyes wander to the indigo sky; The moon rises above the library and a new idea starts to form inside my head.